


On the Edge

by whitchry9



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 02, fixing friendships sort of, hand wavey ninjas, suspicion of suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brett got a call about a drunk wandering around on a roof, he didn't expect it to actually be legit.<br/>And he certainly didn't expect a drugged Matt Murdock to be the man in question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/7552.html?thread=15356800#cmt15356800
> 
> And look. The medical part of this is very accurate. The ninjas? Not so much. I'm going to handwave them away and we can assume Matt did some equally ninja stuff.  
> Thanks to medicbaymax for helping me look up drugs that definitely put me on more watchlists than I already was before.

Elita Santos called into the precinct for the third time in a week, complaining there was a drunk man wandering around on the roof of her building.

Brett was actually one of the only cops in the precinct, since it was a warm night, which meant the drunks and crazies were all out. So despite his promotion, he was the one sent to the scene.

Mrs Santos didn't have the best track record for being accurate when it came to her reporting skills, which Brett thought was understandable, since the woman was at least eighty, half deaf with glasses thicker than his finger and a walker she refused to use.

The last two times that cops had been dispatched to her calls, there had either been nothing or some sort of animal that had disappeared by the time the officers got there, meaning they had to go out, investigate, and write a report about nothing.

Honestly, Brett would have been okay if that was the case, cause it would have been preferable over what actually happened.

 

There was a man wandering around on the roof of Elita's building. Brett could see him from the street, since it was only four stories.

God, he hoped it wasn't a suicide. Although there were buildings nearby that were much more suited, ones that were ten stories or more, without nosy old women who called the police every time they heard a sound.

Of course, if the person was indeed drunk, they might not have known that.

 

Brett sent a request in for backup, despite knowing none would be available, and took the stairs two at a time to the roof.

 

He tried to keep quiet, in case he spooked them, but as soon as he made his way onto the roof, the person's head snapped up.

“I hear you,” they sang.

Which, weird, Brett thought.

“I hear everything,” they continued.

Brett held his hands up. “Hey. I'm with the police. I got a call that someone was up here, and I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

As he moved towards the man, he heard humming.

“I'm going to get my flashlight out,” Brett warned.

The man didn't seem to hear him, despite his earlier claims, and continued humming.

Brett got out the heavy duty flashlight clipped to his belt and turned it on, aiming it at the other man.

 

Jesus. “Murdock?” he asked.

“Hi Brett,” Matt replied.

Brett didn't know what to say to that. Because yeah, here was Matt Murdock, former partner of Foggy Nelson, the idiot who kept giving his mom cigars. Brett didn't know Matt all that well, hell, he barely knew Foggy other than from when they were kids, but from what he knew about Matt, he wasn't really the type to be wandering around on rooftops in the middle of the night.

Cause he was blind, first of all.

“What are you doing up here?” Brett asked.

“Oh, just… listening to the city,” Murdock replied, dragging a hand through the air, waving at the city that stretched far beyond the reach of Brett's flashlight.

“Why on a roof?” Brett asked, inching closer.

Matt shrugged. “I wanted to be closer to the stars,” he said, sounding a bit sad. He moved away from Brett, closer to the edge.

He didn't have his cane, Brett noticed. Or his glasses. But he was still dressed in a suit, one of the sleeves looking torn, and there was a fresh bruise on the side of his head.

Okay, so maybe not drunk. Head injury?

“Careful Matt, you're getting close to the edge,” Brett warned.

“I know,” Matt said, moving right to the edge.

Brett's breath caught in his throat as he thought Matt was going to jump or slip or something and how he was going to have to explain to Foggy how his best friend died and he couldn't stop it.

 

But Matt didn't slip or jump, he sat, feet dangling over the edge. He started humming again.

 

Brett could breathe again. He inched closer to Matt.

“Mind if I sit?”

Matt patted the ground next to him.

Brett sat a bit further away from the edge, not wanting to dangle his feet over the alley like Matt was doing.

“You okay?” Brett asked. Up close, the bruise didn't look as new. A few days old, maybe.

“Everything is so loud,” Matt replied.

Alarm bells were ringing in Brett's head. Dammit, what were those questions they were supposed to ask. They just had a mental health seminar last month.

“Are you… thinking about hurting yourself?” Brett asked.

Matt continued humming.

“Matt. I need you to tell me if you are going to hurt yourself,” he said more firmly.

Matt tilted his head. “Can you hear them? All the screams, the cries, the pain. Can you hear them calling out?” He reached an arm out to the air, like he could grab whoever he was talking about.

“Matt!” Brett yelled.

Matt startled. “What?”

“Are you going to hurt yourself?” Brett repeated. It wouldn't be far-fetched. He'd just lost a business he spent years working towards, his best friend had decided not to work with him anymore, and according to Foggy, his relationship with their secretary went to shit. Or maybe it was some other woman, he couldn't keep track. But his life wasn't doing so good now, and even though Brett was pretty sure Murdock was Catholic, that didn't mean suicide was out of the question.

Matt looked confused. “No. Why?”

“Because you are sitting on the edge of a roof talking about being able to hear suffering. Do you understand why I'm concerned?”

Matt considered it. He nodded.

“So if you're not going to hurt yourself, what are you doing up here?”

“The stars,” Matt said simply.

Brett sighed. “You already said that. But Matt, you can't see. Why are you up here, alone. Where's your cane?”

“Mmm. Down in that alley maybe?” he guessed, pointing.

Brett rubbed his forehead. “Why would it be there?”

“That's where they tossed it.”

Okay. They were getting somewhere. Brett wasn't sure where, but it was somewhere.

“Who did?”

Matt shrugged. “The Hand maybe? Hard to tell.”

“Who?”

“They're ninjas. But it's a secret. Shh.”

Jesus Christ. Maybe Matt was just completely insane, having some sort of psychotic break brought on by stress.

“How about we move away from the edge?” Brett suggested, setting a hand on Matt's shoulder.

Matt screamed, honest to god screamed, and skittered away across the edge of the roof, nearly giving Brett a heart attack. Again.

“Whoa!” Brett said, holding his hands up like that would do any good, like Matt could see he wasn't going to touch him. “Calm down buddy.”

“Hurt,” Matt said petulantly.

“Your shoulder hurts?” Brett asked.

Matt nodded. “Dislocated. Well. It was. Not anymore.”

Brett only blinked. Yeah, sure, why not. “How about the other arm. Is it okay?”

Matt nodded, and Brett switched to Matt's other side. That time, setting a hand on him didn't send him off. “How about we move away from the edge, okay? How about I call Foggy? Would you like to talk to him?”

Brett was already dialing as he asked Matt that, and hoped the answer was a yes.

Matt hummed again, which seemed like a positive reaction, and he crossed his fingers that Foggy would actually pick up. And then that he would know what to do in this extremely weird situation, with a friend who may not have even been his friend anymore.

 

“Brett?”

“Yeah, I got something for you Foggy.”

“You know Brett, I don't actually need you to call me when you get weird cases anymore. I have plenty.”

“You'll want this one. It involved a certain friend of yours who I found on a roof, talking about the stars and hearing people's suffering.”

Foggy swore, and something fell in the background. “Where are you? Is he hurt? Are you going to arrest him?”

“Why would I arrest him?” Brett asked, alarmed.

There was quiet on the other end of the line. “Uh, no reason. I just assumed since they sent you, that arresting would be involved.”

“I was the only one available,” Brett replied. Matt started humming again, closing his eyes. “And I think he's fine. Right Matt?”

Matt tilted his head towards Brett. “Do you hear the people sing?” he asked seriously, then burst out laughing.

Brett frowned. “I think he might have been mugged or something, I'm not sure. I'm definitely concerned about a head injury, cause he's acting… insane.”

“Drugged,” Matt corrected him.

Brett dropped the phone. “ _What?_ ” he asked.

Matt nodded, eyes closed again. “Drugged,” he repeated, more slowly this time, like the word was exhausting to say.

Brett was trying to pick up the phone again when Matt just _dropped_ and Brett was really fucking glad he already had a grip on him because otherwise he would have fallen right off the roof. As it was, Brett barely managed to keep him from slipping over. Brett yanked him away from the edge, and damn, the guy was heavier than he expected, and completely dead weight.

“Matt?” he asked. He poked the man, who didn't stir.

Brett frowned. He was still breathing, which was a great start, but he wasn't responding.

 

“Brett?” his phone asked.

“Shit. Yeah Foggy?” he said, picking it up and pressing it to his ear again.

“What the hell happened?”

“He passed out, nearly fell off the roof. He's fine though, as far as I can tell. But right before he passed out, he said that he'd been drugged. I've called for backup, and I'll get them to send an ambulance. If you want, meet us at the hospital. Metro General probably.”

It was the closest, and Brett could see it from their rooftop position.

He hung up on Foggy, cutting off whatever he was about to say next, and radioed in for an ambulance, giving them their location and the few details he'd been able to gather before Matt passed out.

 

When the paramedics got there, they were efficient, checking Matt's vital signs, putting him on a backboard after Brett explained he might have been mugged and also had a recently dislocated shoulder. Brett still felt as useless as he did during the time it took the ambulance to get there, only able to watch Matt breathe and hope he kept doing it, but at least this time he knew that something was getting done.

 

He rode with Matt to the hospital, flashing a badge at the medics.

 

Foggy actually managed to beat them to the ER, and was waiting when they wheeled Matt in on a stretcher, still unconscious.

Foggy paled at the sight.

“Is he okay?” he asked, trying to follow them into the treatment area. One of the nurses kindly but firmly pointed him back to the waiting room. He then turned to Brett. “What the hell happened?”

Brett took him to a chair, sat him down, tried to collect his thoughts.

“We got a call about a guy wandering around on a roof who might have been drunk. I went to check it out and found Matt up there, humming and talking about the stars and how he could hear everything. All the suffering and pain. I was worried for a bit that he was going to try and hurt himself, cause he got really close to the edge, but he said he wasn't going to. He also said something about his cane being in an alley, the fist, and then passed out. Damn near fell off when he did, but I grabbed him and pulled him back.”

“That's all he said?” Foggy asked, sounding relieved.

“Yeah, probably.” Brett scratched his head. “He also quoted a line from a musical.”

Foggy smiled a little bit. “Glad to know some of it stuck with him. He seemed okay though, otherwise, right?”

“Yeah. No blood, no brains coming out. Screamed bloody murder when I touched his one shoulder, said it was dislocated, but not anymore. You make the weirdest friends Nelson,” Brett added, shaking his head.

“Well, you're included in that, so...”

Brett scoffed. “We are not friends.”

Foggy shrugged. “You called me though.”

“Who else was I supposed to call? My mom?”

Foggy nodded thoughtfully. “Bess does love Matt.”

Brett rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “I'll go see how he's doing. The badge does have some perks.”

He was too on edge to sit still, and waiting had never really sat right with him. He didn't become a cop to work behind a desk.

 

“I'm looking for a Matthew Murdock,” Brett told the charge nurse, flashing his badge. “I came in with him and I'd like to know how he's doing.”

The nurse eyed him. “Through the doors, to the left. You should be able to find him.”

Brett nodded. “Thank you.”

 

Matt was in one of the first curtained off areas that Brett checked. A doctor was making notes on a tablet next to his bed.

“Hey,” Brett said, flashing his badge again. “How is he?”

The doctor consulted his notes before replying.

“Mr Murdock is in stable condition. Were you the cop who brought him on?”

Brett nodded. “Yeah. Found him on a roof. He alright?”

The doctor hummed. “Symptoms point to a drug like Rohypnol. Lab tests will tell us more, but for now his vital signs are stable and he's doing well, considering.”

“Rohypnol?” Brett repeated. “Isn't that a date rape drug?”

The doctor sighed. “Yes, that's what it's most well known for.”

“Was he?...” Brett trailed off, not wanting to ask.

“No, there are no signs of sexual assault or physical injuries. Except for the shoulder,” he corrected. “It's not dislocated anymore, but it is quite swollen and likely was dislocated recently. Who knows how it got fixed. We've got x-rays in the works, but I suspect they won't show anything other than the swelling I mentioned.”

Brett nodded. “That's good.”

“Do you know how he was drugged?”

Brett shook his head. “I didn't know he was drugged. Thought he was concussed at first.”

“Was that because of his eyes? They are non-responsive to light, but that's because he's blind.”

“No, I knew that. I know him. I didn't jump to drugs because I found him on a roof. If he was drugged, how did he get up there?”

The doctor shrugged. “Could have been self injected. Could have been someone trying to mess with him. We can't know until he wakes up, and even when he does, he may not remember. These types of drugs are notorious for causing amnesia.”

“Great,” Brett muttered. “When will he wake up?”

“It depends on the dose he was given. The drug that I'm suspected can have a duration of around 12 hours. I'm waiting on confirmation from the lab, but there is a drug that can work as an antidote.”

“Well why aren't you using it then?”

“It's not without risks. Benzodiazepines can have a long half life, and the antidote only lasts for short periods of time. Not to mention he could go into withdrawal if-”

Brett held his hands up. “Whoa there. Look, I've got the guy's medical proxy out in the waiting room. You should be talking to him about this.”

The doctor shrugged. “Bring him in then.”

 

Brett headed back out to the waiting room to get Foggy, wondering the whole time how the hell Murdock got drugged with a date rape drug, then ended up on a roof. Things tended not to go that well for other people under the same circumstances. Maybe there was something to be said for vigilantes helping out.

“Nelson,” he called. Foggy's head snapped up. Brett gestured for him to come, and turned back around. “Doc says he's been drugged,” he told Foggy when he caught up. “You'll probably be the one to make medical decisions though. You're still his proxy, right?” Brett asked, wondering if their falling out was bad enough to make Murdock change that. Although to who he wasn't sure. Brett was pretty sure the guy didn't have anyone else.

He was pretty sure Foggy was thinking the same thing. “I think so,” he said uncertainly.

 

“Well, good,” Brett said, and pointed Foggy towards Matt's curtain. “He's in there. I'm sure the doc will tell you everything you need to know.”

Foggy eyed the curtain and looked back at Brett. “You staying?”

Brett shook his head. “It's a busy night. I've got a report to write and the rest of my shift, during which I've got to make sure Hell's Kitchen doesn't fall to pieces. I figure you've got this. I can call the hospital later to get details for my report, and you can fill me in on how he's doing.”

Foggy nodded, biting his lip.

“Hey. He's gonna be fine. He's a resilient guy. Weird, and resilient.”

Foggy smiled. “That he is,” he agreed.

 

Brett headed for the exit, not lying about the amount of work he still had to do. But before leaving the ER, he paused, looking back towards Foggy, who was listening to the doctor intently, one of his hands set on top of Matt's. For all their arguments, their differences, the different directions their lives had taken in recent months, Foggy still genuinely cared about the guy. And Matt was lucky to have him.

 

Yeah, they'd both be fine.

 


End file.
